Super Luv
by Rufescent
Summary: AU; America is living the life of a supervillain, yet his life is far from fulfilled. He's disregarded by his twin, conflicted with black and white ideologies, and completely lost within himself. He needs to glue the broken glass back together, but he can't do it alone. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these beautiful characters. Have fun! Seriously, I don't even know what this is anymore. ALSO, why is _superhero_ one word, but _super villain_ needs to be two words? I refuse. Supervillain is now a word.

* * *

"_Is it madness? Is it?"_

~Loki in _Thor_

* * *

America grinned, showing off his canines. His hands rested on his hips, curled tight around a sleek belt, as he laughed. The fun was about to begin, and he was totally going to enjoy it.

"On the ground, America!"

"A surrender would be awesome," the other called.

The rubble was shoved aside as the two fumbled their way in.

America dropped his smile and raised his hand in a short wave. The heroes were early, and instead of simply trying the unlatched lock, they had knocked it off its hinges. How rude. That door had taken a lot of effort to make (read: mind-control) someone to design it.

The villain smirked sweetly. "Where is the fun in that?" he asked.

The blonde Brit (who America liked to call England because, come on, he couldn't just call the hero Bond or whatever cliché nonsense he claimed was his name) snarled. The albino beside him narrowed his red eyes, frowning. They were both posed there, hands resting over those shiny guns on their belts.

How odd. America pursed his lips, put his hands back on his hips, and skipped forward. He scowled when neither flinched away before sidling up inches away from England. He could even hear the man breathe.

"That was rude, England."

The man narrowed his vibrant green eyes into slates. "What did you just call me?" His voice was low and bored. A lie.

"England!" America chirped happily, dancing back a step. There was a faint buzzing sound in the background but was easily disregarded as the dirty-blonde smiled. The villain's grin was as smooth as broken glass. "Here to finally arrest me?"

The Englishman didn't answer, though he did open his mouth. Prussia beat him to it, growling, "You're surrounded."

"Un-awesome," America remarked idly. He skipped around the two heroes, blue eyes glowing in the dark light of his not-so-secret-anymore lair.

The Prussian smiled, matching America's grin cheek to cheek. "Best get on the ground then."

"Dude, I'm America." He said it like it explained everything. The dirty-blonde even swirled a hand around the room with a wide-eyed expression.

Prussia smirked. "And I—"

The buzzing exploded into a high frequency, and America cursed. Tony, that showoff. He turned, bowed, and cooed, "Maybe next time!"

He fled. And then smiled dolefully at the heroes once he was beside the aircraft.

England growled, and America could even hear it over the roar of the shuttle. Yet before he could even blink, the Brit had stomped forward and gripped the American's wrist tightly between pale fingers. America snatched his arm away, stumbling back. No way—the Englishman had just been yards away. How did he grab his hand?

America, thrown up beside his alien ally on the shuttle, glanced down at the two agents from the air. They were so small, and America couldn't resist waving arrogantly to them. England's loud cursing only made his smile widen.

That was only the prequel.

"Tony," the American called, ducking through a short hallway to the deck. The ship was definitely bigger on the inside. "You taking us to New York?"

America grinned at the alien's answer. He loved his job.

**...o0o...**

"_Mr. Bond, Mr. Bond! How will your team deal with this? Are you going to focus on the damage or the cause?"_

_Mr. Bond sighed, his large eyebrows scrunched up together. "We are collaborating our efforts on fixing the damage. But do know this: America will get justice."_

_The young reporter nodded, nervously pulling at her hair. She smiled shyly into the microphone. "No pun intended."_

_Mr. Bond snorted and crossed his arms. "No pun intended."_

Alfred snorted and then broke into a long fit of giggles. Lady Liberty looked adorable, in his artistic opinion. Her neon-blue hair complimented the stars-and-stripes of her dress. No one could call him anti-American, for sure. After a few moments of him trying to catch his breath, the American finally dropped off the couch and turned the news on mute.

"Mattie?" he called, ambling over to the kitchen.

His brother waved slowly at him before looking back to his computer screen. Without moving his head the older twin asked, "Did you hear about New York?"

He continued his quick typing. Alfred always wanted to know what his brother's job was but every question he voiced was skillfully avoided and pushed aside. The man almost never left his computer.

Alfred concealed a smirk, poking his head into the fridge. Where was the chocolate milk? "Yeah, totally lame of America."

Matthew sighed and the American could barely hear it over the _click-clickity-click_ of the keypad. "Alfred, is there something you're not telling me?"

Oh shit.

"Dude, what?" Alfred laughed and pulled the milk out. He took a large gulp out of the carton before looking to his older twin.

The Canadian rolled his eyes. "Don't do that, Al," he warned, pausing in his typing to wave a single hand at the chocolate milk.

The younger twin simply shrugged before setting it down on the counter. "What do you want to know?"

"Where were you earlier today?"

Alfred grinned and fingered his glasses. "I was on a date."

His brother groaned. "I knew it."

Alfred pouted and pulled a chair up beside his Canadian twin. He ignored the sharp feeling of hurt when the man hastily shut the computer closed. Was his brother an FBI agent or something?

"Watching porn?" the blue-eyed twin asked, laughing. His smile wasn't cracked at all. No.

Matthew snorted, "You wish." He swiveled in his chair so they were face to face. "A date?"

Alfred nodded. "Mh-hm. I'm trying out this online dating site. Looks legit enough."

His brother smiled beautifully. Alfred enjoyed moments like this. Where his brother actually paid him attention, instead of whatever it was he did on the computer. "Did it go well?"

Alfred looked into the living room. The television was still showing pictures of America's handiwork on the freedom-inspiring statue. The alterations really did look obnoxiously cute. Alfred hummed under his breath before looking back to Matthew. "Not really."

His brother smiled sadly. Alfred mentally kicked himself—what hero (villain, really, but whatever) made his brother sad? He scrambled to say something else. "I mean, I have another date tomorrow with someone else. That should go better. It said he likes magic and reading, so maybe he'll like sci-fi too?"

His brother grinned but his violet-blue eyes looked off. "Is he British?" his twin chuckled, fingering his black computer absently.

Alfred blinked. "Dude, no way. How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Well, that was weird. Alfred grinned instead, ignoring the hesitant _careful careful careful_ his mind chanted. His brother wouldn't hide something important from him. He trusted him.

"Sooo," he drawled, "how long do you think E—Bond and that albino will take to get the Statue of Liberty cleaned up?"

"Why do you refuse to call 'that albino' by his superhero name, Al?"

"Because it's even lamer than _Bond_."

Matthew giggled. He slid off the chair and shuffled over to the television. "Fine, but if you ever meet them, which knowing you and your obsession with heroes will happen sometime in the next year, make sure you avoid all topics on names."

Alfred laughed, a true and free sound. He called to the back of his twin's head, "Yeah, but come on, the villain name America is so much more original than Bond!"

The American could hear his brother's smile. "Isn't it a rip-off of Captain America, though?"

"Psh!"

"I don't get you, Al," Mattie said quietly and Alfred could only hear him because the television was still on mute. "You are obsessed with heroes and the United States, but you choose to worship the villain the US is trying to capture."

"I'm not worshipping the man. I just like him more than the Briton or Prussian."

Matthew abruptly turned around, eyes blown wide. He took a step toward the kitchen. "What did you just say?"

What?

"Um, what?" Alfred said intelligently, reeling back in his chair as he watched his twin stalk forward.

"What did you just say?" Matthew's voice was weighted and low, his face a cold mask. Alfred bit his lip and blinked his blue eyes in confusion.

"I, uh, said that I don't worship America."

"And?"

"And, um, that he's cooler than Bond and Gilbird?"

Matthew's face melted back into a semblance of his normal, sweet expression. He smiled, but Alfred's breath hitched in worry. "Alright."

"Okay. _No_. Mattie, what the hell?"

"Nothing, Alfred."

The American scowled. His brother was back to how he was before, whenever he was on the computer. Cranky and cold. Fine. Alfred didn't care. His broken smile didn't mean anything, he was fine. Alfred pushed himself off his chair and stomped passed his brother. He ignored Matthew's pleas and apologies, throwing the apartment door open and smiling angrily at the _vringgg! _noise it made.

"I'm leaving," he said without waiting for an answer.

After about five minutes in the cold, frosty air Alfred realized what his brother had freaked out about. He had called Gilbird (seriously? What kind of superhero name was that?) a Prussian. On the news networks the albino was known to be German, because Prussia no longer existed, if anything; only if Alfred had up-close contact with the man would he have known that the Prussian loved to flaunt his militaristic heritage.

Alfred sighed and slowed down in his fast paced walk. He really needed to be more vigilant. What kind of hero—villain—let his secret identity be found out by his twin brother? Though, thinking about the Canadian's reaction, Alfred concluded that his twin really was in the more up-there business. He probably even worked with the government.

It almost surprised him that his brother didn't already know that America was only an alias for Alfred F. Jones. What with his obsession with science-fiction and aliens, love for space and technology, and that fickle inhuman strength he had going. He was the epitome of a freak.

Alfred glanced down at his boots. That weird teleporting trick England pulled early was freaky as well. What was he? Magical? It wouldn't surprise the American to find that out, other than it being scientifically impossible. England probably was just using some new government tech.

The American smiled shyly and looked up at the sky. It was slowly getting dark and the streetlights were already offering pedestrians an orange glow. He loved walking; it always helped clear his stressed mind. It was always so serene.

"_Help_!"

"Fuck!"

Alfred jumped and then winced. What was going on? He slanted his head, eyes flicking wildly around the park. It was quiet. Yet the supervillain knew that was a lie if anything.

"Get on the ground!" It was quiet and would have been disregarded had Alfred not trained his ears to be specifically sharp.

And the threatening phrase reminded Alfred of what Prussia had said to him only hours before. He threw his head around, azure eyes flying around the open setting. He sprinted forward, breathing soundlessly through his nose. The American ducked around a tree, sticking himself to the bark.

Alfred could now easily hear cracking sobs. A girl.

"On the ground!" The man snarled again.

Alfred held his breath. _Five… four… three…_

A disgusting, guttural laugh. Another, older man. "Don't move, yah hear?"

A cry—_two_—a slap—_one_—an accepting whimper.

It took no more than a minute. Alfred threw himself at the man leaning over the woman, tackling him to the ground. He kicked the gun that had fallen free at least half a mile away with his supervillain strength. Twisting, he tossed the man into the tree he had been behind. The grunt and smack of the man's head hitting the bark embarked the other stunned man into action.

Alfred rolled and then arched his back, kicking and clawing. This man, a tiny-eyed brunette, was flung on the grass beside the other criminal. Before they both could rise, not anywhere close to being unconscious, Alfred pulled the woman up by her waist.

He ran, hand tight over her arm as he pulled her along. She was still crying, and started choking even more when the men screamed at their backs, but moved just as quickly as the supervillain. Which was something Alfred could respect; he was crazy fast from the practice of fleeing so many times from superheroes.

After a few short moments of Alfred weaving through the edges the town, pulling through sharp corners and sliding through dark hallways, he let go of her hand.

"You okay, ma'am?"

Alfred stopped himself from slapping his forehead. That was too similar to Captain America. He really should stop watching those hero movies so much.

She leveled her breathing enough to smile shakily. "Yes. Thank you."

He nodded. "Who were they?"

She had a hand over her chest, which was rising and falling erratically. "I don't know."

Yeah, Alfred suspected that. He turned, glancing out of the dark alleyway. When cold fingers rested over the back of his hand he flinched before he could stop himself. "Please come with me to the police station?" she asked, voice soft but wavering.

Alfred bit his lip, heart beating in his ears, as he nodded. They walked side by side together to the building but the American didn't stop shifting his eyes around them until they were inside the warm office.

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**A/N**: I am so sorry if these babies are OOC. :( I'm trying! Reviews will be loved like the hugs they represent! So… please give me a hug?

Also, as a warning now: this was supposed to be lighthearted. I don't what's happened, but please give me flexibility with this story. It's dark at parts, and not at others. I don't even know anymore.

I hope it's good, nonetheless.

Hug?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these babies. Have fun! Seriously.

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"I'm sorry for blowing up at you, Mattie," Alfred called, shutting the apartment door with a high _snap_. "Forgive me?"

Alfred flicked back a step when Matthew hurled himself down the stairs and then into his arms. The hug was stilted but so, so warm. Alfred propped his head on his older brother's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"You idiot."

Alfred cracked a grin. "I know."

"Where were you?"

"On a date," Alfred teased before sighing at the freezing glare he was tossed. "Alright, I was at the police station."

"The police—!"

"Chill, bro! I helped some lady get there; she wanted someone to go with her." It wasn't a lie. Not really.

But his twin brother clearly didn't believe him, if his dubious expression was anything to go by. Though instead of calling Alfred out, Matthew shrugged and snatched his brother's bony wrist, pulling him to the couch.

"Let's watch the _Avengers_."

Though he allowed himself to be led, Alfred did a double-take. "What's happened to my Canadian twin?"

Matthew laughed, and Alfred noted that his laptop was nowhere in sight. His older brother smiled. "As an apology from me to you, I'll deal with terribly obtuse plotlines and overacted heroism." At the offended look he was sent, Matthew tried again, chuckling, "Fine. I'm sorry for freaking out on you, Alfred. Let's watch an American hero movie to prove there are no bad feelings!"

Alfred grinned and leaned into the cushions.

By the time the credits rolled, his older twin was breathing evenly, his chest gently rising in shallow waves. Alfred's face softened as he fumbled through a nearby closet for spare blankets. He draped the cover, with a starry red and white array similar to the American flag, over Matthew before padding into the kitchen.

His brother's computer lay suspiciously closed beside the fridge, but Alfred avoided the electronic device by instead grabbing a glass and filling it with tap water. He sipped at it, looking over the rim to his dozing twin. Alfred bit his lip and glanced over shoulder.

The sanguine-tinted characters read _10:14_. The American grinned and carefully set his glasses down on the countertop. Matthew would probably wake in an hour or so, enough time for a little outing. His last one hadn't gone so well, what with would-be rapists interfering with what was supposed to be a calming walk. Alfred finished his water and rested the empty cup beside his eyeglasses.

Was there enough time for some villainous activity?

Alfred frowned. Yes.

Did he want to don his supervillain suit and inflict it?

His frown deepened. Not really. Sometimes he enjoyed coating buildings in chocolate and laughing at the plainly idiotic attempts the government would make in trying to stop him or fix his tricks. Yet sometimes he just didn't enjoy it.

Alfred blinked slowly. His mind was just a bundle of contradictions, and he hated dwelling too long on them. He was going to try that walk again and a distraction would be acceptable.

**…o0o…**

America wasn't evil, not really. He wasn't misunderstood either. He was just tense and in need of a good punching bag. And if he thought punching bags to be too boring? Well, England and France (whom America had aptly named once he heard the hero's fruity accent) would be the perfect substitutes.

"Bond, now is not the time! We must separate!"

"What the bloody—" England's curse was lost in the loud squeal the Frenchman made when the Brit positively _kicked_, "—do you think I'm trying to do, frog?"

It really shouldn't have amused America so much to see the two twist around, bodies glued to each other in a hilariously sexual position. He paced a few steps before decidedly skipping forward. America eyed, with unconcealed glee, the two superheroes still, even after more slow minutes, kick and squirm around in a futile attempt to free themselves of the other.

America laughed cheerfully and then smiled fondly down at them. Which is why he saw England's eyes narrow before flashing—_glowing_—a deep forest green.

America jumped back, his breath caught in his throat as he stared back at the now-free superheroes with grim, furious faces.

Uh oh.

France prowled, smirking at the frozen mask on the villain's face. England simply glared hotly at him. Their faces were still red, but America knew better than to mistake it as embarrassment.

America licked his lips and swallowed. Their eyes never left his. Alright, only one way out of this. America crouched down, confidently rolling his shoulders. He was going to be a good villain and get the hell out of there.

"Surrender, _Amérique_," France demanded. It wasn't France though that had America pausing. It was England, his favorite superhero, who now sported hands flaming the same bright forest green.

"Magic?" America taunted though he wasn't so sure that science was mature enough to explain freaky glowing hands or teleportation or whatever trick the hero had used to free them.

The Brit's answer was short and strong and not really the answer America was looking for. America groaned when his head hit the wall. His jaw was throbbing something awful, too, but the supervillain managed to ignore it for the time being. He deftly rolled under the beam from France's gun before bouncing back up, avoiding another green sphere of energy.

"Ow," he whined. He gingerly ran a finger over his face. There was totally going to be an ugly bruise there in the morning.

England didn't stop advancing. America stumbled back a few steps, his heartbeat accelerated and loud. When the supervillain's back hit the wall his face had crashed into seconds ago, his blue eyes widened. Not in fear, though. Never fear. America smiled innocently at the hero, brushing aside his mind's frantic _holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I'm doomed, doooooooomed._

The superhero snatched America's wrist, a grip mirrored from earlier that morning. It was tight and unmerciful. America scowled but effectively masked a jerking wince when the nails dug into his skin.

"Surrender." It wasn't a question.

America took it as one anyway. In one effective maneuver he ducked down and launched himself behind the superhero. He dodged France's lunge and sped into the cool air. He managed to lose the heroes in the populated streets, weaving around throngs of sleepless teens and young partygoers.

When Alfred arrived home he knew it was at least early in the next day; probably around two in the morning. He slipped into his apartment with a nervous air clinging to his costume like dirty fumes.

Yet luckily there was no climax. Matthew was still sleeping peacefully on the couch, not having moved even an inch from his position hours ago. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief before tiptoeing to his room.

He rubbed his eyes and wished to fall face first into his fluffy pillow and sleep for days. Instead the supervillain wearily pulled his tall black boots off and stuffed them carefully under his bed, along with his the other parts of his villain costume. Once he was wearing his much-too-big "Captain America!" t-shirt and pajama pants, Alfred shuffled into the bathroom.

Without even looking at himself in the mirror he pulled out some skin-colored makeup and brought it with him into his bedroom to set beside a lamp. Matthew always woke up before him so Alfred wanted to be ready to conceal his injuries when his twin knocked on the door.

Sleep came with much welcome.

**…o0o…**

"Alfred, it's already one," his brother yelled, knocking loudly on his twin's door.

Despite how much the younger twin wanted to simply burrow his face into his pillow and fall back in Sleep's loving embrace, the recollection of yesterday slowly pieced itself together in his mind. He blinked awake.

Before his brother could unlatch the lock, Alfred called back, "Yah, I'm up, dude! Be out in a sec!"

He rolled off his bed, clutching his head. _Ow_! His jaw was screaming and his wrist felt more sensitive than when an eight-year-old Matthew had bit him hard enough to draw blood. England sure could pack a punch. And speaking of his supervillain deeds, what on earth had possessed him to change twice in only one day. Normally America chilled for a few weeks before annoying the population with villainous tricks.

Alfred rolled his aching shoulders. His muscles were still tense and sore.

If the American had to guess, it would be the extreme stress he'd been feeling the past few days. His brother, his brother's secrecy, Alfred's own big secret, the date, his nighttime heroism. Though if Alfred had to put a perspective on it, the date he planned for wasn't even close to the secrets Mattie and Alfred were tearing each other apart with. The date might be considered fun in comparison.

Alfred sighed before shaking his head like a dog ridding itself of water clinging to fur. He dabbed into the makeup and skillfully hid the dark coloring on his jaw and the finger-shaped bruises decorating his wrist. Once he was sure his wounds were no longer naked, Alfred changed clothes and walked into the kitchen.

The pain from his wide grin was momentarily pushed down. Mattie had made pancakes!

Alfred moaned in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering from pure love. He missed the amused look his twin sent him over his computer.

"Alfred?"

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed.

"I'm going to go into work today and I won't be back until late," Matthew told him, his dark eyes jumping from Alfred's face to his computer screen and then back again.

"Sure," Alfred answered, shrugging. He took another bite of pure heaven. It wasn't like the brothers had planned on doing something together. Normally the man wouldn't even tell him about his comings and goings, so this conversation was probably guilt-induced from their last fight.

"Okay."

"Yep."

If Alfred hadn't lived years upon years with his twin he would have labeled this moment as awkward. Except he had, and it was only awkward if the secretly-a-supervillain wanted it to be.

"You think my date with Arthur will go fine?" Alfred asked around a mouthful of pancake.

"Of course," Matthew said. "Just be careful, okay?"

Alfred voiced his agreement before grunting as he slid off his chair. He dropped the dishes into the sink, turning to look over his shoulder to his brother. "You too, yeah?"

Matthew's hummed, his violet eyes moving back to the computer screen. He started typing again.

Alfred smiled sadly to himself, stumbling out of the kitchen with a mindless wave. He went in the bathroom, first to check on his covered jaw and wrist, and then to fix himself up for the date in a few hours. Alfred ran a finger along the frames of his glasses. It was cool to the touch and undamaged.

America didn't wear glasses.

Alfred did.

He sighed and pulled his hand away. The beeping of his cell-phone was a welcome relief.

"_wat up w/ FrUK last night?"_

Alfred snorted. He was smiling as he texted back, _"lol, i was bored and they were just there ;)"_

Tony's reply was unappreciated but had the American laughing in the bathroom with free mirth. Alfred quickly sent a text telling his friend, ally, of his plans later that evening. The unflattering reply was deftly ignored as he slipped out of the room. He flipped the phone open and dialed in the alien's phone number.

"Tony, dude!" Alfred walked into the living room and smiled distantly at his questioning brother, who had his head poked above the laptop curiously.

"Hahaha! No way!" Alfred smiled, listening with half an ear. Sometimes he just liked to hear the alien's voice, to not feel so alone. It was probably a good thing, then, that he was trying to date again.

Matthew glanced over at him again. He shut his computer with a gentle click and stared unabashedly at his younger twin.

"Hmm, oh yeah. Mattie says hi, by the way." Alfred smiled, nodded, and covered the phone's speaker with his free hand. "Tony wants me to tell you hello as well."

"He did not, you liar."

Alfred laughed and smiled. Matthew could spot the guilty look without a second thought. When the American removed his hand and continued to prattle to his nerdy friend, Matthew pulled his computer into his backpack. He looked up.

"Talk to you tomorrow, dude?" Alfred chuckled at the other's farewell. "Yeah, to you too!"

"All good?" Matthew asked just to be sure.

"Sure thing!" Alfred sang. He stuffed the cell-phone into his pocket and leaned forward. "You leaving now?"

The Canadian nodded and Alfred grinned. "Have fun!"

"Be nice to Arthur, okay? No fast-food outings where you pressure him into eating excessive amounts of burgers." Matthew shrugged on his coat, the sleek fabric tight on his body. "Deal?"

Alfred grinned and waved. "I can't promise anything!"

His brother's grunted reply was easily ignored. The door shut and Alfred was alone in the apartment room.

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**A/N**: Please **review**, dearies! Next chapter the plot really begins, so yay! Love you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these darlings. Have fun! Seriously.

**A/N**: I'm really nervous about posting this chapter, even though the plot really starts here, if anything. I don't know how Tony talks so… he's going to speak like a normal human being, OOC or not. I would love notes, however, on how to make him more realistic! This chapter just won't be very well done. ALSO: this chapter is just Idon'tevenknowwhattheheckIjustwrote; it's crazy angsty. All for a puny OC.

* * *

Alfred spent the hours alone brushing up on superhero movies. _American_ superhero movies. He ate another popcorn kernel and basked in the awesomeness of his country and its heroes. The villains weren't too bad either.

When the screen cut in half to roll the credits Alfred snatched the discarded remote and changed the channel from _Thor_ to the news stations. Maybe he could get some inspiration for America's next outing.

"_Two men have escaped police custody early this morning," the newswoman was remarking, her shiny face drawn up in worry._

_The screen flashed to the criminals' faces as the lady continued to narrate._

Alfred nearly fell off the couch. He stared unblinking at the two men, his heart in his throat. He had attacked them only a day ago, saving that young woman and walking her to the police. His stopped breathing and fumbled for his phone. Was the chick he had helped okay? Were the men going to go after her again?

"Tony?"

"Fuck?" was his greeting.

"Dude," Alfred began urgently, "two common criminals escaped today. I need you to find everything you can about them, past and now."

What Alfred could always appreciate about his technological savvy alien was that he never questioned Alfred when he got in this mood. Alfred or America – they were one in the same. Alfred listed off every characteristic he could, noting the time and place of when he had first met them.

Alfred paced around the apartment, gnawing at his lips. "Anything?" he had to ask, twitching nervously.

The alien's response was short and unwelcome.

The young girl was killed.

Alfred couldn't breathe in. He couldn't feel his hands tighten around the cell-phone; he couldn't stop his body from falling in a crumpled mess to the ground.

The next words were a lifesaver, though not necessarily a strong enough balm for the bleeding: the two men were caught moments ago by the United Nations—the superhero tag team America and Tony had named after frequent showdowns revealed more than half of the heroes were not of a single country. But the men were in custody, were going to be facing justice. That was good.

"You gonna be okay, Al?" the alien wondered, his voice laced with concern.

Alfred swallowed and adjusted his grip on the phone. "Yeah, yeah," he breathed. His hand was shaking.

"You should probably go now, Alfred."

"Go?" His mind was still numb.

"America," Tony snapped sharply, yanking Alfred away from his destructive thoughts. "You saved her the first time. You were her hero when you could be. This time there was nothing you could have done, and _it is not your fault_."

Alfred growled into the phone. Lies!

He always knew he was a failed hero, that he was freak; that was why he was in the villain marketing, but fuck he had killed her and how was it not his fault and holy shit he just murdered a living soul who probably had a family and a kid and a cat who was probably meowing this moment for food or its owner to come back but she couldn't because she was dead and it was all Alfred's fault—

"You have a date!"

Alfred staggered back like he had been slapped in the face. "I—what?"

He barely heard the sigh of relief on the other line. "A certain Arthur Kirkland you are intended to meet in five minutes. Remember? The man you think might be perfect? You were telling me about him earlier."

"I—right—Arthur?"

"Yes. Go fuckin' meet the limey and then, if you're not otherwise occupied, come meet me at our new place. Understood?" the alien's voice was demanding but soft at the same time, and Alfred couldn't have expressed his gratitude enough.

"I—thank you, Tony."

"So you'll meet me?"

"Yes."

Alfred hung up the phone without another word. His pulse was thrumming against his ribcage and the American had trouble swallowing. He gulped a large amount of air before releasing it slowly through his nose. Arthur Kirkland had no idea what he was getting himself into.

**…o0o…**

Despite the trauma Alfred had faced only minutes ago there were no leaks in his expression that would betray his frayed mental condition. He was a supervillain with enough practicality and lessons on masks to wear it flawlessly. His expression was perfect.

Alfred sipped at his coffee, smiling with crinkled eyes. "So, how has your day been so far, Artie?"

"Don't call me that," the blonde snapped harshly. "It's Arthur, if you please."

"Sure," Alfred chirped, gulping more of his rapidly cooling drink. He smiled at the other Englishman now in his life.

In reality all he wanted to do was curl up and cry himself to sleep. Arthur didn't seem to be faring any better. His green eyes were glaring something fierce at Alfred and there were small scratches along his chin.

"I'm going to get a muffin," the American said, because damn he needed some air.

It looked like Kirkland just wanted to grunt and wave him away but thought better of it and grit out, "If you must."

Alfred ordered a chocolate chip one, the biggest they had in the stacks. He bit into it before walking back to the table.

Arthur reminded Alfred of England too much. The green eyes had the same judgmental stare; the blonde hair had the same unruly mess. Except Alfred knew Arthur Kirkland could not be his England. For one, the cranky poster-child was in a committed relationship with an unnamed beauty in France. Her name had yet to be released to the tabloids, but it was commonly supported that Mr. Bond was in a loving, heterosexual relationship. For another, supervillains don't date superheroes, Alfred is sure. That is surely breaking social norms to the max.

Or, Alfred thought as he stomped back to the table, maybe it wasn't so preposterous. All that Romeo and Juliet jazz.

"You didn't get me one?"

Alfred's eye twitched and he finished the muffin with relish. Arthur was annoying enough to be England. "Nope, sorry, Iggy." He wasn't sorry at all.

Instead of focusing on Alfred's rudeness, Arthur blinked in total confusion at the name. "What the bloody hell did you just call me?"

Alfred shoved away the déjà vu with a broad smile. His mask was securely clasped back on, buckles as firm as steel. "Iggy!"

The Brit was losing his patience and Alfred knew they both were regretting ever agreeing to this date. "What is an iggy?" was the slow hiss.

Alfred leaned back in the chair. "You reminded me of a British, uh, friend I have, and I thought the nickname was fitting between the two of you."

"You sure have nerve, kid."

"Kid?" Now Alfred was getting angry. His feet were no longer crossed, lying solid on the tile floor. "You're only a few years my elder!"

"I'm sure more mature than you!"

Blue clashed furiously with green. Arthur shoved his chair aside with a screeching _eeeeeyykkk_ and narrowed his eyes at the dirty-blonde. He stiffly shoved his hand below the American's nose.

Alfred inwardly cursed himself for violently flinching back.

The Brit frowned at the response. "It was a pleasure," the man droned, his hand still held forward.

Alfred hesitantly gripped it with cold fingers and gave an equally firm pump. "Oh no, the pleasure is all mine," he said. Alfred offered him an oily smile. "Let's not do this again, hm?"

"I would _love_ that."

Alfred smiled tightly. Another failure, then. "Farewell."

The Englishman nodded, his so very green eyes the happiest Alfred had seen throughout this whole mess of a date.

Alfred watched him walk away with no misgivings. Nope. None at all.

**…o0o…**

"I didn't even get to talk about magic or aliens or heroes or the United States, Tony; I mean, come on! I asked him how his day was and then it just went downhill from there! Why do I, why do I _fail_ so much?" Alfred's heated rant had turned into a pathetic whimper by the end. He scratched at his cheeks haphazardly, clawing and wheezing into his arm.

Tony's large eyes only blinked.

Alfred ignored him. "I mean, she's dead."

"She?"

Alfred's snarl was feral and everything like a wild predator. He howled, "You know who!"

"Alfred."

"I tried, Tony, I did!" Alfred continued. He didn't mind the one-sidedness. "I tried to be a hero. It's not the first time I've done stuff like that. I once saved that stupid, stupid kid with those ugly glasses. Remember, Tony? He was stealing some—some—something and there were those big men chasing him. I pulled him into an alleyway and was his bodyguard for the day."

At Alfred's pause to breathe Tony murmured, "Alfred."

"And then there was that man on the corner and I gave him some money because he needed it and I—I—I—"

"America."

"—everything is my fault, Tony. I'm a failure. Don't you see? Matthew ignores me, no lover wants me, and I _kill people_! I'm worse than a freak. I'm a monst—"

"Finish that fucking sentence, America, and I'll force you to play videogames with me until morning."

"Matthew wouldn't even notice I've been kidnapped," Alfred half-snarled half-sobbed. His breathing was coming out in quick gasps and his blue eyes were glassy and wet. Tony hesitated; he was awful with people in general so in no way could he handle a crying one.

"America," he began softly, reaching spidery fingers over to his friend's shoulder, "it's just you and me right now. No internal hero obligations, no family issues, no _anything_."

"You missed my failure with love," he whispered hollowly. Tony owlishly watched him, mouth dipped in the corners when he saw Alfred curl into himself, obstructing his face. "And how I'm a freakish monster."

"Do monsters feel, you fucker?"

Alfred's reply was garbled but Tony saw the way his lips parted and twisted.

"Fuck, America. Alfred. Listen here." The alien's thin fingers pulled Alfred's clenched fists away from his face. The human's body shook like a leaf. "I love you for yourself. You're fuckin' loved. Now I need you to get back into the living room and judge this place if it's worthy to be our new lair."

Alfred only moaned.

Tony continued lowly, ordering, "And you're sleeping here."

At that the man jumped up, his face wide and exposed. "What, no! Mattie—"

"—will know that you're having a sleepover with your nerdy friend once you call him. You're staying."

Alfred's face sharpened into a horrible picture of _hate_. "You can't make me do anything."

Tony narrowed his red eyes into dangerous slits, crossing his grey arms tightly over his chest. "No I can't, America. I can, however, offer you my unconditional friendship and help you get through this."

Alfred's furious face shifted in seconds so fast Tony couldn't suppress a surprised blink. The human fell to the floor, sobbing and laughing uncontrollably. Tony managed to gently guide his friend into the open space of the lair, depositing him gently on a patriotically-decorated couch.

"I'm going to get you some water, okay?"

"I'm not crazy."

Tony smiled, his grey mouth tilting up effortlessly. "No, Alfred, you're not."

The two villains spent the rest of the night together, hunched on the too-soft couch with popcorn littered around their feet. The television was flashing "you win" over and over again but Alfred's eyes were already shut and his breathing even. Tony turned the mortal device off and nodded to his unresponsive human friend.

He detached himself from the light grip. The grey face was smooth as he watched America's chest rise and fall, but his red eyes were fond.

They really made a great pair. They really made great friends.

Alfred needed to know he wasn't as alone, as unwanted, as he had presumed. But the alien ally could only go so far.

* * *

**A/N**: Alfred sure has issues. ;) Reviews are always appreciated, as is criticism about my writing or characters or what-have-you. Thanks for reading thus far!


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